


Accidental Magic (And Possible Love)

by louvelyboyfriends



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hate to Love, M/M, fifth year au, fifth year hogwarts, harry gets shrunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7789048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louvelyboyfriends/pseuds/louvelyboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry supposes it's his fault; now he has to trust an irritable Draco Malfoy with his life.</p><p>Or, Harry gets shrunk, no thanks to Ron, and it just so happens that Draco has a surprisingly comfortable front pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidental Magic (And Possible Love)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this goes ok!!! first published fic and im a bit nervous but anyway hope its ok, please leave feedback x:) i also made up one of the spells used in here so ya

Harry, whose dark hair was sodden and plastered to his forehead, scowled lightheartedly at the ginger boy alongside him. They were chasing after the warmth and comfort that the Gryffindor common room promised; yet to no surprise, Ron was preoccupied with other matters. He was irretrievably enamoured with the plaited style Hermione had recently taken with her hair and seemed oblivious to the water that dripped from the tips of his hair onto Harry’s damp shoulder. Rain fell in gallons around them, leaving a fresh scent in the air, and the crowds of students bustling indoors shot daggering glares up towards the sky. It rumbled and crashed in response, as if they were the ones causing offence.

On one side of the courtyard, the pompous prefects, who- contrary to the previous years- did not include the likes of Percy Weasley, tried their hardest to shuffle inside unperturbed. However the rest of the students spared no shame in cursing profoundly. A severely pissed-off and bitter looking Zacharias Smith was even going to the lengths of wringing rainwater onto any dry students walking past. In many ways, Harry thought it was a refreshing break from the dry slumber that the Hogwarts pupils had fallen into and he was not unhappy to see the heatwave that the school had suffered in the past month leave. There was a limit to the number of times a fifteen year old boy, and one full of distress at that, could sit through History Of Magic in twenty-seven degree, scorching heat. Professor Binns really should’ve passed through to the other side many years ago, in Harry’s professional opinion. Perhaps Peeves would soon decide that he’d spent enough hours of the day tormenting Filch and not enough driving Binns round the bend. Hopefully.

Glancing over, Harry thought with mild amusement that Ron didn’t seem to be thinking as positively about the storm as Harry, himself, was. Judging from the disgruntled expression his face was now pulling, he was not in favour of the rain. There was a water droplet trickling down his freckled forehead; he huffed in irritation. Hermione was the only one of the trio who remained unaffected by the sudden change in weather. In fact, she was delved so deeply inside her latest book Harry doubted even an exploding Hippogriff would’ve caught her attention.

“Fucking hell,” Ron grunted crossly, earning a disapproving stare from Professor Sinistra as she strode by. “I ‘spose we can’t sneak out to Hogsmeade anymore, can we? Zonkos is great and all but I don’t fancy the journey there.” This got the three of them, much to the annoyance of Hermione, a second scowl from the Astronomy professor.

“No, but we can go to the library and study,” said Hermione, dragging her eyes away from the page. She snapped it closed, with a brute force that no longer made Harry startle like he had as a first year. As she saw the blatant dislike on Ron’s face, she seemed to flicker through three different emotions: disbelief, sympathy and then, landing finally on frustration. “Honestly, Ron! Our exams are only a couple of months away and I bet you ten of Dobby's tea cosies that you haven’t even started your revision.” She paused, catching her breath, “Promise me you will try your hardest? And that goes for the both of you.”

"As if I would use one of those flea bags." spoke Ron and Harry duly noted the regretful sounding tone.

"Well, Dobby seems to likes them and that's really all that matters- whether you approve or not doesn’t concern, nor bother me." She retorted, sourly.

Hearing this, Ron’s ears transformed into an increasingly brilliant shade of red, matching with his hair, and he suddenly found an occupying interest in something on the ground. Guilt and quiet anxiety, a toxic combination, flooded Harry's mind. She made a point. Harry had knowingly, even eagerly, been neglecting his studies for a trip to Honeydukes too often to be reasonable. Particularly for a fifth year studying their O.W.Ls, let alone the worshipped Saviour of the Wizarding World. Whilst his classmates and fellow Gryffindors were heading off to the library in obstreperous study groups, he daydreamed of Pepper Imps and Fizzing Whizbees, free from the toad-resembling lump addressing herself as Dolores Umbridge. The women did seem to carry a bizarre mound on her neck that Harry could certainly visualise belonging to a family of amphibians.

Ron protested, although a fond smile was threatening to appear in place of the crimson in his ears, which Harry noted was fading slightly. "'Mione, me and Harry are gonna' end up with that anyway. Umbridge is hardly gonna' let us pass, is she?"

Ahead, a flare of familiar, pale hair stalked further along the hall; Ron's eyes narrowed, filled with disgust. A bob of black hair and dark skin followed closely behind Malfoy’s sharp figure. "It'll only be Malfoy and Zabini, possibly Parkinson, getting decent O.W.L grades in Defence this year, mark my words." He said.

Hermione seemed to struggle for an answer at this, something Harry was certain caused her great displeasure, and offered a subdued “It’s _Harry and I_ , not _Me and Harry_.” They all shared a look that unspeakably promised to steer clear of the nasty group of Slytherins.

As the three abruptly turned to change their route, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, two of their fellow Gryffindor fifth years, shoved past. The two were murmuring to themselves, holding a coloured box, which was covered from top to bottom in illustrations of prancing dragons, and looking particularly suspicious. Peering closer, Harry recognised the grand logo of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Harry remembered Fred and George kicking him under the dinner table at Grimmauld Place, then saying lowly something about inspiration for Dragons. At the time, with Mrs Black screeching and hurling offences about- a tennis ball rampaging back and forth- he'd been wholly confused. Now he could've sworn one of the beasts bore his scar. He had heard numerous rumours, which were passed in the hallways, of the twins starting up their own line of joke products but this was the first he’d seen of it. Pride swelled in his chest; it was clear that his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament had been put to good use.

As well as feeling proud, Harry was instantly comforted, because it had been a fear of his that Fred and George would be unable to handle such copious amounts of money and would end up blasting it all on Zonkos products. Despite sounding tempting, it was not the smartest way to spend one thousand galleons.

“What’s that then, Dean?” He called and Ron smirked knowingly at the box under question.

“It’s a Skiving Snackbox, Fred and George were working on those all summer.” His ginger eyebrows furrowed. “Bloody annoying if you ask me, they didn’t come out of their rooms once, not even for mum’s Shepherd's Pie, and all I could hear was explosions for weeks.”

Anyone with a brain knew that Molly Weasley made the most delightful, mouth-watering and, frankly, glorious Shepherd’s Pie known to man, so to have missed out on that meant the brothers meant business. This was intriguing, at the least. 

“Can I see? Pass it ov-” Harry was interrupted by Hermione swatting his chest with her book. It was heavier than it seemed and he wheezed, thinking about the purple bruise he’d most probably find later that evening. Groaning enthusiastically, he looked to Ron for support but the boy simply shrugged as if to admit defeat. 

“Harry, you must be joking! Did you ignore everything I just said? We’re all going to the library right now before either one of you can come up with another pathetic excuse to avoid your work.” Hermione argued hotly, scrutinising the both of them with a wildness in her eyes that only came when she was frustrated. He knew better than to disagree, the gruelling eleven years he’d spent with the Dursleys had taught him when to just comply.

If it was anyone else ordering them this, Ron would have jumped into the Black Lake before tagging along, but since it was Hermione he only stood there endeared, undoubtedly awestruck as per usual. There was no way out of this, Harry concluded, so, with a swift nod, they set off down the hall.

~~~

Three hours, several torn textbooks and empty Chocolate Frog boxes later, and they'd gotten nowhere. Hermione, whose hair was chaotic with the amount of time she'd spent running her hands through it, was at her breaking point. Another failed attempt at the Muffliato Charm looked like it could cause her to burst.

"I've forgotten again, why can a Bezoar only be used to stop some poisons from killing you?" Ron repeated, flicking through a standard Potions textbook. 

Harry felt like a parrot as he recited the words from his own book. "Because, a Bezoar acts as an absorbent for liquids and therefore cannot be used as an antidote for dry/solid poisons." Memories of his first year flashed before him, when Snape had patronised an eleven year old Harry for not knowing the answer to a question about Bezoar's. He had studied tirelessly on the subject that night, till his eyes were drooping and the sun was waking.

"Sounds 'bout right." mumbled Ron as he scrawled down notes in the margin of his page. The library was abnormally silent. Although Madame Pince managed to sustain a fairly calm atmosphere, there was typically at least three groups dotted around. Usually studious Ravenclaws or Gryffindor's that had been kicked out of the common room. It also wouldn't be considered uncommon to find couples in the midst of heavy snogging. Harry had walked in on Blaise Zabini with his tongue down Padma Patil's throat too many times for his liking. Despite this, once the rain had ceased, the room had immediately drained of all the pupils, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione to their melancholy selves. 

Unsure what to revise next, Harry tucked in his chair and wandered over to a section he hadn't explored yet. The walls were taller here; he found most of the shelves were out of reach. Twisted carvings of vines crawled up the wood and some spines of the books had similar patterns. It was likely that these had been written for Hogwarts library especially, since they seemed to match the designs. The lighting was dimly lit; it was difficult to make out the words.

A niggling voice in the back of his head told him that snooping around never got him anywhere, but Harry felt strangely attached to this aisle, and brushed it off. After all, nothing would be as it as without curiosity.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Ron, whose gangling limbs were knocking over everything surrounding. "Mate," He whispered in a panicked tone, "She thinks I'm bloody pathetic, I can tell. Not that I really care, of course...I just don't want her thinking that I'm like that all the time, y'know?" Hermione grimaced at them from behind Ron's shoulder, probably assuming that they were scheming on how to get her to abandon studying.

"Calm down, you're acting like we've never studied with her before." Harry fought off the temptation to snicker. He knew he shouldn't laugh but the whole situation was awfully comical. "I'm pretty sure- no, actually one hundred percent sure, that she's aware we're hopeless at Potions."

As if to prove this, Hermione hurried over with a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ in hand. "You really should know about Bezoars by now, Ron. That was third-year level at the most," She thrust the text into his arms and he nearly dropped it, fingers fumbling, before settling down into a more collected manner. "Here, read this. Professor Mcgonagall told me that it'll be required next year, so you may as well get a head start."

Suddenly, Ron's face lit up. Pulling out a familiar object from his satchel, which Harry noticed was extremely frayed, he said, "I have a copy of that! Percy passed it down to Fred but he jus' said he wouldn't need it. Something about his brain being too wickedly good for mainstream education, the twat, and then he forced it onto me." 

The very opposite of Hermione's, Ron's book was tattered, like the majority of his possessions. It wasn't difficult to recognise the years of use and love from the Weasley family. A small, careful script in the top-right corner read _'Percy Weasley, Gryffindor Prefect'_.

"Brilliant!" Hermione said, beaming, and checked her wristwatch "I would go and get started then, it's almost curfew and the library will shut soon."

Harry was internally horrified at the idea of working any longer, let alone on an entire new topic. His hand ached from writing and sore, blistering marks were beginning to form on his fingers. Desperate for any excuse to put the books aside, he frantically suggested that they should touch up on some practical work. 

Apparently this was the correct thing to say, as Hermione grinned, displaying her large front teeth. "Perhaps you're right, Harry. With Umbridge denying us our wands in class, I doubt we will get any time at all to practise! It might be a good idea." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron's shoulders relax. She _was_ tiring, Hermione. Wickedly genius and the most remarkable girl Harry had ever had the pleasure of knowing but, nonetheless, tiring.

If Harry, in between his annual near-death experiences and the general consistent disaster, ever found himself with nothing to do, he could always rely on Hermione to send work his way. Unfortunately, this said work was nearly always involving him, three bottles of Draught of Peace and a stack of books ten miles high. It was truly miraculous she agreed to put them down. Although, desperate times call for desperate measures and Umbridge brought out sides of the Hogwarts students never seen before. Barty Crouch Jr, who had been a certified death eater under the name of Mad-eye Moody, even felt gentle in comparison now. 

Shuddering, Harry felt his scar prickle at the mention, but it was the carved letters on his hand rather than the lightning bolt on his forehead. Pink bows could never be thought of in the same light again.

"I wonder why Dumbledore considered even hiring her, she's a pain in all our arses. Even worse than Lockhart, that one." Ron commented and Harry snickered at the memory of their old Defense teacher. Rumour has it he had claimed an entire room for his own in St Mungos.

The day prior, Dean had asked, rather insensitively, whether Neville Longbottom had seen Lockhart when he was visiting his parents. There had been an uncomfortable atmosphere in the room for five minutes until Seamus' latest spell blew up in his face, breaking the tension. 

"Isn't it obvious, Ron? He didn't have a choice." intervened Hermione, her words slicing through the silence of the library. 

"The Ministry must be having a hell of a fun time cocking things up for us this year." Harry groused quietly. On the opposing side of the shelves could be a lurking Crabbe and Goyle, for all they know.

"You could say that again, mate. First, we got Percy running away like the miserable git he is," Ron then side-glanced the aisles, as if his brother was somehow spying on them, "now all this mess with Defense classes. Say, can we start our spell work now?"

Resembling an excited child, Hermione let out a squeal and nodded wholeheartedly. She announced that they should start by seeking out instructions for spells; the trio began stalking the rows and columns that towered so high above them.

It was common knowledge that Hogwarts held one of the most impressive and fascinating libraries known to Wizardkind. It was also one Harry had been using for the entirety of his schooling. Hence the reason why he was not sent into a panic when a navy, iridescent and smoking mist began to rise when he picked it up. Even when one snapped at his fingers viciously, he only slightly flinched and placed it back in it's slot.

Then, out of nowhere, a wispy silver substance floated before him. It danced and swirled in circles before forming the shape of an animal. Fierce and sleek like a Leopard, except there were none of the Leopard's unique markings. This wildcat had smooth fur- A Panther. A _Patronus_.

"Ron!" said Harry, gesturing his friends to walk over. One eye was kept on the Patronus, as he was frightened it was disappear as fast as it came. "Hermione! Look!"

Hermione's bushy hair bounced as she rushed to his side. Following the direction in which Harry was waggling his finger, she was bemused to find that there was nothing there. One look at her best friend and it was as plain as day how little sleep he'd been receiving. "Harry..." She spoke tenderly, "I can't see anything there. Unless it is a Threstral, I think you should turn into bed early."

 _Just his luck_ , Harry thought with a twitch of his eye, _Just his luck there would be yet another thing only visible to him_. That would be excluding Loony Lovegood and her dreamy manner of speaking and silky white hair, however. For some unknown reason, this fact didn't bring much comfort to Harry. As much as the fourth year girl was sweet, he found it hard to believe that she was a reliable source. 

Just as Harry, whose hair had magically transformed from a casual mess to the appearance of a mop in the space of ten minutes, opened his mouth to answer, the Patronus flickered. 

He froze. 

It flickered once more, grinning devilishly at Harry, then gave a feeble _poof_ and vanished. 

An ache spread like wildfire throughout his chest. Beginning in his heart, and then reaching out to every nook and cranny of his rib-cage. Confused at why he felt such a loss for the charm, Harry frowned and closed his arms around his torso. He wondered whether there were any rogue Dementors hanging about the corridors, for the only thing parallel to this pain was the fear the creatures caused. 

It was unbearable, like stepping into an icy lake on a Winters evening or bathing in thousands upon thousands of needles. And then, it was gone. Harry gasped for air and came to the slow realisation that he had fallen to the floor at some point. Concern etched on their faces, Ron and Hermione knelt beside him. He smiled sheepishly, hoping it would be just enough to ease the worries he could see running through their minds, and then paled as he looked over their shoulders. 

Only a few meters behind them, the Panther was prancing gracefully along the shelves. The way it wove in and out of the wood, pausing to glance back at the three sprawled across the floor, reminded Harry of playing a game of chase.

"It's over there! The Panther!" yelled Harry and he sprung to his feet. 

Sprinting after him, blatant confusion was painted on Ron's features. Harry could practically see the clogs turning in his brain. "The Panther? Threstral's, sure. I could jus' handle those but not a bloody imaginary Panther, too. I draw the line." He had whined.

A sparkle in the corner of his eye caught Harry's attention once more. This time, the Patronus hovered overhead an enormous book, which lay half-open on the desk. Despite the fact that the text was unassuming and plain, there was a distinct thrum of magic surrounding it that lifted the hairs on his arms. _Dementors_ , Harry assured himself, although he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

"Do you want us to take you to the Hospital Wing? Madame Pomfrey must be missing you, you haven't been there for a couple of weeks and you look like you've seen a ghost." Hermione chimed in but she received no response from Harry as he stared curiously, transfixed by the book. 

Although, Ron piped up in his place. "Seen a ghost? Hermione, Nearly-Headless-Nick isn't scary at all; I thought you'd gotten over being afraid of his neck." He leaned his heavy forearm on Harry's arm. "Besides, Harry was never even scared of him in the first place.

"It's a muggle phrase, Ronald." informed Hermione factually, rolling her eyes.

When their bickering got too frequent, too petty, for the black haired boy, he would tune them out. It was a talent he had taken to using in many scenarios. Mainly when it was dusk in the rowdy Gryffindor common room and he longed for peace. This was another one of those times. What frankly interested Harry, is why Draco Malfoy was currently poised at the end of the aisle, his eyes wide with shock. His white hair had taken a different approach this year, falling, lightly wavy, to the side. There were lines in his pasty face where there hadn't been before and whilst his eyes normally seemed harsh, they were softer around the edges. Harry still thought he was the world's biggest twat, though. 

_He's probably just seen his reflection in the wood surface and seen that he looks even more like a pointed wanker than usual._ But when Harry searched for the cause of Malfoy's surprise, he followed the trail until it landed on- the twinkling Patronus. A taste of vile rose up his throat. _No_ , but try as he might, Harry couldn't find another possibility. If there was anyone to ever share his visions, of course it had to be Malfoy. Luna Lovegood forthwith felt like the better option.

Meeting Harry's cautious eyes, the blonde's face twisted cruelly into a sneer and any sense of vulnerability disappeared. Malfoy inhaled a gulp of air and the exhale could be heard from the borders of the Forbidden Forest. Straightening out his Slytherin robes, his glower fleeted between Ron, Hermione and Harry for several seconds. Eventually, it came to settle on the copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ , which Ron had clutched in his left hand.

"So, Weaselbee, I've heard rumours about your father being demoted at the Ministry." Malfoy taunted, daring to move closer. "Judging by the state of your book, I reckon they were correct."

The spiteful words came as no shock to Harry, he had braced himself for the worst. It dawned on him that Malfoy was not speaking with as much passion as he did the previous year. Perhaps, he hoped desperately, that the death of Cedric had managed to knock some sense into the snake.

What nobody was expecting was the amount of hatred and pure venom Ron battled back with. "Shut it, Malfoy! You and Daddy can go back to cock-sucking You-Know-Who now." Hermione winced, not raising her head as if Malfoy was Voldemort himself. An unwanted image of the Slytherin with no nose was the cause of Harry's muted chuckle.

This comment must've irked Malfoy on a personal level because he went extremely pink in the face and flared his nostrils. Hand flying to his wand in his jean pocket, Harry mentally reviewed the defensive spells he'd read up about earlier. He had zero desire to bring harm to anybody but if Malfoy attacked his friends with any more snide remarks, well, who could blame him if a Bat-Bogey-Hex happened to slip out.

"What do you think you're playing at?" said Malfoy with a low growl. "Do you think a mudblood-associating Weasel like you can _actually_ talk to me like that?"

Anger flooded Harry's veins, clouding his every thought. Every insult, every hex and shove reminded him of exactly why Malfoy and him were fighting for different sides. Some people grew up into arseholes and some people were born them; the fuming boy opposite Harry was definitely the latter.

A hex was brewing on the tip of his tongue but Ron beat him right to it, throwing a purple spark towards the blonde. Much to their surprise, Malfoy brought it to an end with a brisk click of his fingers. Since when did he become so unfairly smart?

The flurry of events that came afterwards occurred so quickly Harry wasn't certain he was aware of what had happened. Somewhere in-between Hermione screaming "You blonde, foul and cowardly beast!" and Malfoy countering it with all kinds of deadly names, Ron had dived to the ground. Only when he looked for the second time, did Harry spot a familiar book in the redhead's strong grip. The diluted hum of magic was more present than ever. He was frantically scanning through, eyes scrutinising back and forth along the lines at the speed of light.

Amongst the voices ferociously shouting, Harry overheard, at the very least five spiteful, _"Mudblood"_ 's. There was suddenly a loud bang. Ron had tried to Body-Bind Malfoy, instead hitting a fragile glass vase, which was decorated in stain-glass roses, with the magic. Seemingly, the pair did not notice the destruction, as they didn't even momentarily falter in their argument. Apparently, the shattering of art wasn't at the peak of their priorities.

"Go home to your God-forsaken muggles, Granger. You don't belong at Hogwarts." Malfoy drawled icily and now, filled with malice. His hair was dusty white like the moon high outside. But Malfoy's hair was not foreign like the moon, it was a constant in Harry's life- it was there, everyday without fail, across the long dinner tables. At every Quidditch game, whatever the weather. Harry appreciated constants' for they kept him grounded in the mess of things, and this is why he did not draw his wand. Same could not be said for Ron- this was the final straw.

Gryffindor courage was often a positive thing, however when Ron Weasley yelled with all the volume he could muster- which unfortunately was still rather quiet- it was possibly the exact opposite: "Iraparvre amarcurous!" A fluorescent beam of blue light shot out the tip of his wand; Malfoy's face gleamed aqua as it headed in his direction. Harry had never seen, or even heard of, the spell before and despite the fact it was his arch-nemesis' life in hand, he was still sickened with himself at the adrenaline pulsing through his body.

The magic thrust itself forwards- vigorously violent- and for a split second Harry felt concern for Malfoy, whom was stricken and sallow looking. Just as it was about to hit the Slytherin, the rays curved and swerved off course- and, since he is The Chosen One after all- straight into Harry's chest. There was a fraction of a heartbeat where he made hesitant eye contact with Malfoy. But the silver of his stare was soon gone, too. The final thing Harry could comprehend was an outcry and a feeling of overwhelming vertigo, before everything turned black.

**Author's Note:**

> i am aware that some of this doesn't fit in with canon but, hey what can u do. I hope it was alright, im debating on whether to have draco help harry in the next chapter or the one after. idk but yeah anyway thanks for reading:))) xxx


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